


"Seijou Trap Emporium, you call, we stall."

by thelabours



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: An AU of Sorts, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, MatsuHana Week, a smattering of other characters, rated T for the f bombs i snuck in :), they own a store! how cool is that!, vaguely shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelabours/pseuds/thelabours
Summary: “Hey, Mattsun, why don’t we have a slogan for the store?” Hanamaki asks, his expression serious.“What?”“Y’know,” he gestures vaguely, “a catchy line. Like, ‘Seijou’s Trap Emporium, you call for traps, we cut the crap.’”





	"Seijou Trap Emporium, you call, we stall."

**Author's Note:**

> for matsuhana week (it's finally here !!)
> 
> day 2, the prompt was competition (is rock, paper, scissors considered competition? they constantly compete to say the dumbest shit anyway so)

“Could you guys quit horsing around for _one minute_?” Iwaizumi pleads. He can feel a headache coming along.

“ _Aww, man_ ,” Hanamaki and Matsukawa chorus in disappointment and climb off the giant metal horse (that Hanamaki had lovingly—and tearfully—christened ‘Troy’, after having watched all of High School Musical in one go).

Before they can say anything else, the phone rings shrilly and Iwaizumi picks up, thanking his lucky stars. Or not, once he figures out who’s at the other end of the line.

“Hello, Seijou’s Trap Emporium, how may I help yo—oh. Yeah, we could take a look. I am, and so is Oikawa. Er—I’ll see what I can do. Good day.”

“Hey, Mattsun, why don’t we have a slogan for the store?” Hanamaki asks, his expression serious.

“What?”

“Y’know,” he gestures vaguely, “a catchy line. Like, ‘Seijou Trap Emporium, you call for traps, we cut the crap.’” 

“That sounds terrible.”

Matsukawa thinks for a minute, staring at his boyfriend’s pout.

“Seijou Trap Emporium, you complain, we try to fix it in vain.”

They look at each other and try not to burst out laughing. There’s a vein pulsing on Iwaizumi’s forehead.

“Oikawa and I are going to look at Guess Monster’s Falling Trap. Apparently v.2.0. turned out to be a defective piece. We’re going to try and fix it. You two are in charge of the store today.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa yell and high five each other. They’re saved from near certain death by Oikawa’s dramatic entrance (cue a door being thrown open). He’s absolutely covered from head to toe in grease.

“Possessed Chair #3 is malfunctional,” is all the reason he gives for his less than usually stellar appearance. There’s a little bit in his hair and no one wants to point it out lest they get stabbed in the eye by the wrench he’s holding.

“Got it,” Hanamaki says instead, writing it down with his pink feathered quill (pulled out of seemingly nowhere).

He and Matsukawa had a whole bunch of things to do, it seemed. Right after Oikawa and Iwaizumi had taken their leave for wherever Guess Monster, Villain Ordinaire, lived, they got to work.

“Mattsun! Go count the Ten-Foot-Pole Detonators!” he yells at Matsukawa.

“Stand ten feet away from me then!” Masukawa yells back.

“Go fuck yourself,” he informs his boyfriend.

The Ten Foot Pole Detonators had been Hanamaki’s idea. After their first date gone awry (because of mustard, ketchup and an abomination Matsukawa lovingly called a hamburger), Hanamaki had declared he wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. Thus had a dozen ten-foot-long poles had been ordered the next day, fitted with detonators that triggered any and all traps within ten feet. 

Next, they’d inventoried, which was Matsukawa’s line of work.

“I excel in the sheets, babe,” he says every time he opens up Microsoft Excel on his computer. It makes Hanamaki want to detonate a ten-foot long pole on himself.

“Read me this week’s purchases.” Hanamaki complies because he’s helpful like that.

“One Iron Maiden.”

“Vintage. Who bought that?”

“Uh…Daishou, I think. Said something about Kitty Napper’s demise.”

“Cool.”

“Anyway, Pit Vipers, 3 dozen.”

“With or without the pit?”

“Obviously with.”

“Go on, Sergeant Sarcasm.”

“Two Swinging Pendulums, Large. Which reminds me, we gotta stock up on those.”

They go on like this for about an hour, until Yahaba pokes his head in to say he’s done with his shift and he’s leaving now, can they please turn off the lights in the UV Room in ten minutes’ time.

“Killing bacteria are we, Yahaba?”

“Now, now, his name is _Kyoutani_ , ‘Hiro.”

Yahaba turns red and disappears in a puff of smoke. He’s prone to doing that whenever Hanamaki or Matsukawa mention their new delivery boy’s name. 

He puffs back and says there’s a nest of bats in the garage, could they do something about it too, and disappears once again.

“Bats, huh?” Matsukawa muses.

“Sounds…” Hanamaki pauses.

Matsukawa looks at him, a weird glint in his eye.

“Batty.” He finishes.

They snicker to themselves and move towards their garage. They usually keep their old, defective pieces which Oikawa has deemed worthy to be reused and Iwaizumi’s dumb bells (and dumbbells). Have they mentioned this used to be Oikawa’s house?

“Hello, bats, come out, wherever you are!” Matsukawa calls. There’s (predictably) no reply.

“Hey, hey. One of us goes in and scares them, the other catches them from here.” Hanamaki proposes.

“Uh huh, OK, go get ‘em, ‘Hiro.”

“No, What.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Matsukawa suggests.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Hanamaki affirms.

They assume battle stances.

“One, two, three!” On the count of three Hanamaki looks gleeful and Matsukawa looks like a man with no will to live. He sighs and steels himself and grabs the nearest weapon (which happens to be an old bicycle handle).

“Remember, the bats are more afraid of you than you are of them,” Hanamaki sings at his boyfriend’s back, as it disappears into the darkness of a place that has likely not seen sunlight in centuries.

A series of screams—both human and bat—later, Hanamaki slaps his forehead. “I was thinking of pigeons, not bats.”

Matsukawa emerges from the depths of the mouldy garage, with an air of a man who has lost everything, complete with a single, triumphant looking bat perched upon his head.

“Told ya your hair looks like a nest.”

“Fuck you,” Matsukawa says eloquently.

“Sure.” Hanamaki shrugs and leans up to kiss Matsukawa’s cheek. 

“Ugh, tastes like bat poop,” Hanamaki says, wiping his lips. Matsukawa looks utterly unamused. The bat looks suspiciously unconcerned.

Just then, an alarm rings loudly.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa turn to each other and scream in unison: “WE FORGOT TO TURN THE UV LIGHTS OFF!”

When Oikawa and Iwaizumi finally return home, grimy, irritated, and thoroughly disgruntled, they’re welcomed by the smell of burning bat poop, a smoking bicycle handle, and the sleeping figures of Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Oikawa quickly takes a picture of Hanamaki drooling on Matsukawa’s more-than-usually ruffled hair. Which stank terribly, for some reason.

Needless to say, Hanamaki threw a fit when Oikawa published that picture on their _business website, Oikawa, how will we ever get customers if you pull shit like this?_

(it got 500 likes within the hour). 

Matsukawa has it printed and framed on his desk.

On the back, it says: _I’d touch you with my ten-foot pole._

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote another piece for this au a really long time ago (concerning tendou, hinata, the rain, and hero/villain dynamics) perhaps you'd like to [take a look?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10796067)
> 
> my tumblr: @iceandbrimstone  
> my twitter: @kirikamis


End file.
